Snippets of Life
by Rasiaa
Summary: From the first train ride, to the moment of death. Short little paragraphs of some big moments in Lupin's life. Something a little different that I tried, not sure how I like it. R


You sit on the train, smiling and laughing at the boys dressed in school robes, their ties undone, shoelaces not tied, and cloaks spread around them like wings. The first time you can say someone besides your parents actually talk to you. And when they offer you candy, and friendship, you can't help but hope they will never run away, or, even better, never figure out about your condition.

The same boys stand in front of you, horror on their faces a year and a half later. They did what you thought was impossible, they figured out what you were. They'll leave; they'll run. You just know it. Then the boy with long black hair, always but never Sirius, jerks out of shock and says that they're sorry for the hell they've put you through unknowingly. When you collapse from shock, relief, and joy that they don't run, they mistake it for pain and fear, and wrap their arms around you, saying they'll never leave.

It's Halloween night, and you are all crowded around the fireplace late at night, filling in the measurements. Just two days before you heard the perfect word for your group. The Marauders, you call yourselves. Now, you're making the Marauders' Map, a perfect tool for the many pranks you have planned with them. While you calculate the spells, Peter writes out the measurements on a paper, and James and Sirius draw the halls, passageways, and classrooms. Even though it's late and you're all drunk, it's still a good time.

"Ready the quill, Remus!" James calls out to you.

You jump forward, a special multi-colored quill in your hand. After two years of hard work, the Marauders' Map is done. Excitement courses through your veins as James gets up from the desk and the other three Marauders crowd around you, Sirius with his head on your shoulder, which is annoying, Peter biting his nails next to you, eyes Wide, and James next to Sirius, smiling like an idiot. You write on the parchment, in cursive, your nicknames, _Messers Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs: Purveyors of Aids to Magical Mischief Makers are proud to present The Marauders' Map._ You all tap your wands, and with a cry of, "Mischief Managed," the map is sealed.

Head in your hands, you think about how he betrayed your trust. Pranks are one thing, but this was taking it too far. He sits in front of you, begging for forgiveness, but how can you forgive him? He told your biggest enemy about your condition, and your hiding place. Not only had he put his life in danger, but also he probably put the Headmaster in a position of which you'd be packing your bags by morning. James storms in and rips him a new one, Peter standing behind James, disgust written across his face. And when he breaks down the next morning and the Headmaster assured you you would not be expelled, you think, maybe, he's on the road to forgiveness.

By daylight, you are the Marauders, mischief-makers and the best pranksters the school has ever seen. Sirius is the one with all the girls, Beaters' bat in hand, and a bottle of firewhiskey in the other. James is the one with the Quaffle, Quidditch captains' badge on his uniform, and the redheaded Lily Evens on his mind. Peter sits around with cards, chess pieces and firewhiskey off to the side. You're the one with a book in hand, quill and ink next to you, and parchment covering one half of the book while you write all the essays for the group, even though they could do it themselves. But, while the full moon baths the courtyard, hills, forests, and lakes, you become the Marauders, the most unique animals out. You howl at the moon while Prongs runs around you, keeping you from the village of Hogsmeade. Padfoot snaps at your heels, and little Wormtail holds tight to the fur on his back. That's just further proof that you four own the school.

After seven years, James finally gets the elusive Lily Evens. With his Head Boy badge next to his Quidditch badge, you can tell he's grown up. Peter becomes a little more quiet then usual, but you pay no mind. Sirius takes more to Muggle music, the record player playing the Beetles all night long. It seems to you that you're the only one who hasn't changed from the first train ride to Hogwarts when you met. You're still the bookish werewolf everyone loves. Brilliant at school, you are. This year will be no exception, you think at the welcome feast, watching James whisper to Lily and seeing her blush and giggle. But it will be different.

The letter falls from your hands onto the old, dusty hardwood floor. James and Lily Potter cannot be dead. They can't. Little Peter, your brother, can't be dead. And Sirius couldn't have been the one to give them away. He can't be in Azkaban, you tell yourself, but, deep down, you know it's a lie. You know you're the last Marauder.

You were right, at least, a little bit. Sirius was innocent. But Peter wasn't dead. He faked his death and set the blame on Sirius, his brother, and his friend. Now, you and Sirius will get revenge, you think, as Sirius and yourself roll up your sleeves, putting Little Peter Pettigrew at wand point. James and Lily will be avenged, today, in the Shrieking Shack, twelve years later. It's bittersweet, but all you can think about is that quiet Peter, the little boy with the Chocolate Frogs was right all along. They had placed bets in seventh year to see how would die first, and he set his money on James. He knew, because he was planning it at the time, and you think, and Harry Potter jumps in front of him, to stop his murder, that maybe, he hadn't considered that he could live on his son.

It takes a few days for the shock to set in. Sirius Black was murdered by Bellatrix Lestrange at the age of thirty-four, in the Department of Mysteries. It takes his little cousin Nymphadora Tonks to finally wake from her week-old coma and ask for him for it to hit you. Although, you think, looking at her, she's not so little anymore. She's not four. But you can't help it. You still see the little girl, not the Auror that she is now. "He's dead," you hear someone say, and you bow your head as you hold her hand. You shoulders shake with silent sobs along with hers.

You never, not once in your life, thought you'd be married. Yet, here you are, two years after Sirius' death, at your wedding, laughing and raising drinks. You avoided firewhiskey, instead settling for some Butterbeer and sweet wine. Lilies and roses and daisies make up the bouquets that are scattered around the yard. You watch her sing along to the music as she dances with the Weasley twins, all three drunk out their minds. At the same time, you're only tipsy. Sirius, and James would've been very disappointed. But, no matter. It's your turn now, you think as you fiddle with your ring and Nymphadora comes over to you, laughing about the twins, who'd left her standing there.

He's okay. Words cannot describe how you're feeling as you watch your son, only a month old, eat and spit the food back into his mother's face. You can see her physically restraining herself from strangling Teddy. Instead she just hands him to Andromeda, her mother, as she stomps angrily into the bathroom. You and your mother-in-law exchange amused looks and she walks away to put Teddy down for a nap. His hair changes color to bright pink when he sneezes on his grandmother, then relaxes back into the soft, dirty blonde hair that he had inherited from you. You, Andromeda, and Dora stare at him in shock before laughing.

When you hear the all-to-familiar crack on Apparition next to you, to feel like you're going to murder someone. You had told her, screamed at her, to stay at her mother's house, but you should've known. When, in her short life, has she ever, ever, obeyed orders? You don't have time to scream at her, however, because in the next second, you two are back-to-back, fighting for your lives. Somehow, you end up next to each other, and you reach for her hand just as you see that deadly green flash leave your opponents' wand.

"Mr. Prongs would like to welcome Mr. Moony home."

"And Mr. Padfoot would like to know what on earth took Mr. Moony so long."

Mischief

_Managed_


End file.
